If you're Iron Man then who are we?
by GraceEliz
Summary: "I am Iron Man." Tony Stark is Iron Man, and the Justice League is sinking into panic. Batman, as always, has a plan for the others to follow. Maybe now they'll learn his secret identity. As the situation starts to spiral into a political incident, Tony, Bruce and the JL need to hatch a plan.
1. Emergency Meeting

_Tony Stark is Iron Man, and the Justice League is panicking. _

"Batman? Um...have you seen this?" Flash nervously handed the pad in his hands to Batman, more than a little concerned over the reaction. Bat was a scary dude. He fidgeted as the Bat's face solidified and tightened with what he guessed was anger – after all, what else could it possibly be? Gotham's oldest vigilante snarled suddenly and Flash knew he'd seen the highlight of the (overdramatic) article: Tony Stark is Iron Man.

"Call a meeting. Right now." The Bat turned away and snapped into his comm, "All heroes in the public eye as civilians or otherwise get up to the Watchtower immediately. This is not a drill. All Bats and Bat-affiliates, be careful." He whirled around, glared at the frozen Flash, and stormed out. Flash skittered to the comm unit for the Watchtower and called the meeting in the largest hall. He had a sinking frozen feeling that this could not end well.

He took a few deep breaths. This news...it could cause so much damage. Heroes were not a new concept, but to see this? Even Ollie's unveiling was a bit less of a disaster than this. He shivered. Stark was a scientist, a genius playboy billionaire, and he had absolutely no idea whether people knew that they'd worked together or not. Would this bring unwanted attention on him? He hoped not; he was rather attached to his current lifestyle and really the media storm over this would not be blowing over anytime soon. That specific message to the Bats was a bit of a worry, though. Why Bats specifically? Maybe their civilian identities were well known or friends of Stark. He didn't think so, though, because Gotham was not the sort of place Stark went to. Metropolis, sure, and he remembered a few really ridiculous stories about Stark, Wayne, Luther and the girl – some sort of adoptive sister to Wayne, he thought, but she went missing (left Gotham and the public eye) a few years after Wayne and before Wayne returned. Something about prison and Guatemala was floating around but he had no idea why. Wayne was absurd and Stark an alcoholic, Luthor a villian and the sister dead. Jeez. This was going to be fun.

Flash took a deep breath – and wasn't this odd, he reflected a bit absently, no humour or sarcasm that he could say out loud – and sped off to the meeting hall. Already teeming, the thrum of power in the air, the roar of voices, the occasional loud crack or screech crashed against him. Bracing himself just a bit more, he zipped to the knot of core Leaguers on the slightly raised podium. The Bat wasn't there. Superman appeared to be laying down some guidelines: "-stay calm, Diana should be able to tell if anyone is hiding things. Cyborg, what can you tell us about the suit? Don't start now; the Bat needs to know. Ah, Flash. Any contributions?" Superman looked calm enough, but the lines on his eyes showed his stress, and a glance to the knuckles showed them white and taut. Flash heaved a sigh. Why him?

"The Bats have been called up here. All of them," he announced. Rubbing his hands over his face, he added, "Bat looked furious and more than a lot stressed so whatever the Bats' link to Stark is it must be enough to cause problems." Superman looked grimmer than Flash had seen him in what felt like quite some time. He was steel and light, a sharp juxtaposition to the intangible shadow of Batman. Just as he heard someone ask what the problem was, the atmosphere of the room condensed. Where it had felt like a hall of students who'd received nasty rumours, a roaring tumult of confusion and misinformation manifested in frantic kinesis, now it was heavier: the pressure of a storm; of expectation; of the peculiar power of those from the crumbled glory of Gotham, the city that eats the light. The Bats had arrived.

Repressing his internal monologue, Flash dropped into his chair. The audience at large followed his lead. The Bats freaked everyone out: definitely not human, yet nothing about them was inhuman. They were just somehow other, like plants growing in the wrong environment, like maths done wrong but getting the right answer, like a word spelled a letter differently. Otherness shrouded them like the shadows they fought in. In the time it took for the League to quiet, the Bats had slunk through the hall to surround the perimeter. Looks and flickered fingers, the flash of teeth in a snarl or smirk, the darkness pooling in Batman's footsteps. And – younger Bats and Birds. Nightwing blue, Red Hood with his brown leather, Red Robin with his sharpness that felt being taken apart and put back together, Robin with his untamed viciousness in protection of his family. Black Bat who could take down anyone, Spoiler purple, Batwoman who he hadn't expected, more and more and more. There were always more Bats than expected. They filled the hall with their shadows. Flash found himself fidgety, knocking knees with Hal. The glance they shared was full of fear and discomfort. Whatever was going on with Tony Stark and his flying suit was clearly not good.

"Tony Stark has endangered the hero community. The extent of this threat is not known. Anyone in regular contact with Stark should report directly to me with a suitable cover story. Nobody leaves unless for emergency. Those of you who have no vulnerability to Stark may leave at will, after the meeting.

Stark has built a flying suit which he is calling the 'Iron Man'. His announcement has endangered those of us in the League also in the public eye. The media will be out for blood after this. Be very careful. As a plan of action for the inevitable disasters approaching: we stay out of it until intervention is absolutely necessary. He will not be permitted in Gotham. Whether you reach a deal with him is up to you. Tony Stark is clever, and knows how to interact as both a playboy and a businessman. He is a genius. Do not forget it."

Batman's growl filled the hall. Flash realised that the Bat knew more than they were being told. Obviously. When didn't he. He snuck a glance to where he'd last seen Nightwing and saw only the flash of red and brown which meant the Hood. A flicker in the corner of his eye had him whip his head around, to meet the haughty white stare of Robin's mask. The kid was stood tall and strong a few feet behind and to the left of his father. A sudden memory of Game of Thrones had the phrase "Hand of the King" ringing in his mind, and a hesitant look up revealed Nightwing perched high in the ceiling. A shadow behind him moved and revealed Black Bat, the terrifying stitched mask displaying nothing. There. The Bat's right hands. Flash shivered. No-one ever escaped a Bat for long. They were rumoured to have a mind link, superpowers. Frankly Flash just thought they were terrifying.

The Bat's head suddenly cocked like a bird's. That was all the scarier for being on him. All the younger ones did it too, but he could see no tell in them that something was occurring. The Bat flicked a few fingers and Spoiler dropped from the ceiling, jogging out of the room with Red Hood loping after her. No-one else dared move.

"We will be staying on the tower. Keep interpersonal communications to a suitable minimum. We can be contacted by the usual mediums. Meeting dismissed." With that final growl the Bats stalked out, his children and extended family behind him.


	2. State your Intentions

Jason shook his head to clear the buzz of the Zeta tube. This was absolutely ridiculous. What was the idiot thinking? Probably wasn't. God knows he must have felt proud of the suit and his achievements but heck, how stupid could you get? Jason was also fairly sure that Tony and B had a pretty strong relationship still. He remembered Bruce going nuts when the news had reported Tony Stark missing after a rebel attack in Afghanistan, remembered the absolute chaos of Alfred trying to make sense of the situation when Bruce had charged up to New York for answers – as himself, no less. They hadn't been seen together since Tony's return, but that didn't mean anything. The press would be around, circling like vultures on the hunt for a story.

Vicki Vale would be the worst, Jason reckoned. Steph jogged over from the batcomputer. "Well, the breakout alarm was apparently a mistake, but we should go check it out anyway," she announced, "unless this press stuff is, like, urgent. Is it urgent?" She looked both curious and concerned, which was a common look when it came to the Bats. Jason considered. Maybe it was pretty urgent, but B would have probably told them if it was life or death. He let them leave the Watchtower after all. Alfred, fortunately, took the decision out of his hands by striding down the stairs and proclaiming, "Not a single one of you leaves the grounds unless Gotham is in danger of burning to the ground." He fixed a glare on the Zeta tubes, muttering something about playboy billionaires having poor impulse control. Jason shared a wry glance with Steph. "Well, Spoils, there ya go."

As the two moved to change, the Zeta fired up again, spitting out first Batman, then the rest of the clan. Jason raised an eyebrow. "What happened to staying on the Tower?" Nightwing flipped onto the dinosaur, dodging Alfred's narrowed eyes. "B says we collect whatever stuff we want so we can head back up. Well, those of us who aren't Waynes can stay, but you know how he gets. Us lot are headed up." He flipped off the dinosaur to land in front of Alfred. "Come on, Little Wing, we can be roommates!" Jason was fairly sure he didn't need to remove the domino for his brother to see exactly how he felt about that.

B moved to the computer and started typing. Nightwing heaved a sigh. "Come on, little birds and bats, let's get this show rolling. Dibs taking my movies." He sprang towards Robin who'd taken off up the stairs and hefted him up, carrying him back to the showers whilst singing Tightrope from The Greatest Showman. Jason shook his head, finally unmasked, and tucked his domino in the duffle bag Red Robin had just thrown at him. He grinned suddenly, turning to his next youngest brother. "Hey Timmers, fancy rooming with me up there? Demon Bird might just try to kill ya if we're not careful." Tim smirked, tucked his domino into his own bag, and answered, "Sure – but you only offered to avoid Dick's octopus hugs. I get it. Hey Cass, you staying with Steph?" Cass looked up from where she was neatly packing her clothes away, having changed into one of B's hoodies and a pair of leggings, and nodded. She looked up towards B, and rolled her eyes. "Dad stressed," she announced, "Scared of Stark being stupid. Worried." Jason sighed. Yep. This whole situation was likely to be a bit of a disaster. B would work himself into the ground. He had a sudden thought.

"Hey B-man, can you even leave Gotham? Will you not have to make an appearance or something?" Jason was pretty sure they would handle patrol by Zeta-ing down every night, but handling interviews? Couldn't do that from space. Then again, B was known for doing the impossible. B sat back in his chair, and took off the cowl. He slumped forwards, running his hands through his hair and over his face. When he showed no sign of sitting up Jason looked at Tim, who shrugged. New ground for everyone, huh? Bruce stood up and strode towards the showers, saying, "Tim should come with us. He is known to have worked closely with Tony and SI, but you can probably stay if you really want to, Jason. I'd much rather have you all" - he paused to remove his suit – "where I can see you. Cass and Steph can come down in a day or two when the media storm eases off. I'd much rather close up the house for the 'annual holiday'. Let out that we went last week or so. Tim hasn't been seen in public in four days with this flu going around, so I'll announce if I have to that the family retreated for a holiday several days ago, so we avoid the press. I'm not doing interviews – nor are any of you – until I know what the hell is going on." With that, Bruce marched off into the showers to clean up.

Steph and Damian came out a moment later. Steph looked concerned. She looked sharply between the two, then sighed. "Looks like a storm, huh? I'll go see what help Alfie wants. Dami, you pack your stuff whilst these two wash up." Damian rolled his eyes but set off out of the cave. When the door had closed behind him and they could hear Bruce and Dick talking in the showers she hissed, "Even I can see how upset Bruce is. What do we do?" Tim looked grim, but Jason smirked coldly. "We wait, Steph, and if Baby Bird and Timbers can distract B enough we nip down for a visit to SI. Stark knows about all of this," Steph looked a bit shocked by that, clearly she'd never seen B and Tony interact at home, "so what we need to do is ensure that nobody else does." Jason looked carefully at them both, but other than Steph having to come to terms with the fact that Bruce and Tony Stark were friends, they seemed with it.

"No. Stay with Dad." Jason considered it an improvement that he only jerked a little to Cass' voice coming from the shadows behind him. Tim only raised an eyebrow. Steph jumped, but only slightly, and asked, "Why do you say that?" Jason couldn't help but agree with the scepticism in her voice. Would they not be better off taking preventative action? Cass shook her head, "He has a plan. Needs us hidden. Doesn't know if safe to leave." Jason had to admit that if B wasn't around then he would be 100% behind the 'stick together and stay in space' plan. They might have all had their disagreements but there was no denying that Bruce would do pretty much anything to keep them all safe and alive. 'Well' was a somewhat relative term in this household, so most of them left it out of the phrase. Jason considered a moment. He shrugged. "I guess we stay with Dad, then."


	3. Inconvenience Erroneous Conclusion

Bruce texted Kate to keep an eye on the news and watch over the Birds and anyone else active in Gotham. The law of Gotham ran that if you wore a Bat you answered to Batman himself; if a bird, answer to Batwoman. He also called Duke, who was very new to this as a solo gig, and left a voicemail telling him to get in touch and not answer any interviews. Avoid the Manor, avoid the Waynes, the media, anyone who suspected their identities, actually, just avoid everyone and come to the Watchtower in case of emergency. After Tony's most recent public interview, well, he had the feeling Gotham's hero manifesto would need updating. Perhaps that was something the kids could take a look at and argue out whilst on the Watchtower – it would keep them busy. Dick flipped out of the shower onto the bench he always claimed when home, grinning up at Bruce like he was still the nine year old who considered Bruce his favourite living person except maybe Uncle Harvey when he brought sweets. The smile melted as his son studied his face, seeing beyond the obvious stress and frustration into the underlying fear and anger. "Do you think we're in trouble then?"

"I don't know," sighed Bruce setting his phone aside and rubbing his hands over his face, "I very much hope not. Thankfully, my marching up to Tony and shouting at him won't be out of character." Bruce shuffled a few towels into the washbasket to be taken upstairs, and Dick took the momentary break to ask, "What will you do?"

"I don't know."

Dick grinned. "I bet that was hard to say twice in a minute," he teased as he hurled the night's underclothes into the basket. He hoped Alfred would send that shirt up . What had Bruce done to deserve these children? They were the light, bringers of hope and peace, a physical embodiment of the universe's offer of good from bad. Ordinarily, he would piggyback his son – or two or three – up to bed and tuck them in. Tonight? Oh, tonight they were all packing up and heading into space. Tony'd really mucked up the whole superhero deal. He'd built a suit, a suit to escape (or so Bruce had concluded from the very drunk phone call), and this suit had become his security blanket – a blanket which was causing all sorts of troubles. Bruce hooked his arm around his son's neck, smiling ever so slightly, and said, "Come on, brat. Let's go pack."

"Dad!" Cass yelled from in the cave just as they reached the doorway, "Steph threw up!" Oh, that was the absolute last thing they all needed to happen. A bout of the flu as well as a traumatised 38 year old billionaire dropping his secret identity in a public press conference? Unpleasant, but not atypical. Bruce heaved a sigh.

"If we're staying with dad, does that mean we get to go to NYC with him?" mused Tim, "Because I want a go yelling at Tony." He grinned the devilish grin which struck fear into the Gotham Rogues, and made Alfred reach for a wooden spoon for rapidly applied discipline. Jason stepped away just as Tim flipped upwards – self-protection instincts ran strong in this family – but Tim still managed to tap the top of his head on the descent. "I was thinking," he continued, "of making a big deal out of not being invited. You know B's going to tear him a new one, so we should probably do damage control."

"Okay Timmers, what is your dastardly plan?"

Cass interrupted him with a curious noise, looking at Steph in concern. Strangely, Steph looked a little like she'd been dropped unexpectedly on a storm-tossed ship, stomach in the region of her brain. As the one without the spleen, Tim took a few cautious steps backwards in an attempt to preserve his health in case she really did throw up. For a few seconds everyone was watching her face warily. Jason stepped forward and asked "Steph? Are you okayyyy - oh shit! Steph?" Tim threw himself several steps away, spinning on his heel and sprinting up the stairs to fetch Alfred as Cass shouted for Bruce, and Steph kept retching. This day was getting ever better.

"Steph, sweetheart," cooed Bruce – and that's the difference, Steph thought bitterly, Batman doesn't coo - "What's brought this on?" Tears clouded her eyes at the bitter taste in her nose and throat, the sting where her lip had re-split. All she could do was sink into Bruce. He cooed again, scooping her up and carrying her into the shower room to clean up at the sinks. Steph curled miserably into him. She'd brushed the discomfort off as zeta or something, or nothing to be concerned over, but it looked like she was wrong. How different could one guy be, to be the terrifying cryptid Batman as well as the soft Dad Bruce they all adored? "It's alright, Steph. Let me feel your pulse a minute. There, sweetie," he brushed the tears out of her eyes, "it'll be okay. Do you want to go straight to the tower?" It was that concern, the love, the endless protectiveness which finally made her burst messily into tears. "Oh, baby, sweetheart, come here love. Let's get you settled. I'll go to Tony after you're settled up there. Hush, sweetheart."

There was something off about today. It was in the air, a miasma of discombobulation, a warning to tread carefully. The ring echoed a warning through his bones which made his hair stand on end and his teeth buzz like pins and needles or something very close: the Bats have stepped onto the Watchtower.

"Hi, Lantern? It's Red Robin." How in the hell did they hack his personal comms? Actually, they probably could do it in under a minute. Hell, they probably had overrides to every system in the world. "We need a suite of rooms – at least four – with a minimum of two bathrooms. Oh, and send us a package of sickness pills and stuff." A Batkid was sick? That was – more weird than he had words for. A quick check of the systems showed Batman's suite to have enough rooms for the Batkids. At least he thought it did, maybe there were more kids than he thought there were. At least four, according to what Red Robin (child three? No, five. Wait-) , but he thought the last count was six. Four – no, five boys, there was a daytime bat too, right? He hadn't seen him at the meeting, but then again, Bats. And then there was the two girls. So, seven. Plus the 'Birds' and Batwoman.

Hal wondered uncomfortably if he'd been utterly oblivious for the last few decades (not going to lie, quite possible) or if indeed no Batkid had ever been ill. It's ...not impossible? There's definitely something unnatural about the Bats, in the way that Diana was unnatural, in the way Clark was inhuman, in the way so many members of the league were simply other. Not all the Bats came to every single meeting. Not every Bat turned out for the big fights. Not every Bat was in the news on a semi-regular basis. Could it have been a possibility that his kids were never ill, ever, even in the decades he'd been a public vigilante? Is that something which can happen? Maybe he –

"Batman!" he shrieked in alarm, clasping his chest and desperately reeling in the impulse to swear in fear of the Batglare of Damnation, "Goddammit, don't do that, you frightened the heck out of me! Don't do that, god, you're going to give me a heart attack. Please, just, hell, stop fecking doing that."

"You are on duty for the next nine hours. Anything that happens to my children is your fault."

Hal's eyes widened in horror. "You – I – are you ffffff-" don't swear don't swear- "flipping serious? You are aren't you," he spluttered, "You're actually holding me responsible for your kids, oh god, I – where are you going? Batman! Batma- who do I fuckin bother." Hal whirled to face the scanners. Anger – and a remnant of fear, for everyone feared the Bats – built in his chest at this responsibility. These weren't his kids. They were not even normal! For all Hal knew they were vampires.

Vampires...wait. Someone had said something about that... Flash? It was weird for Flash to also be hiding his identity, but he was one of the only members who did outside of the Bats. He'd be more likely to know, right? If he'd said something about vampires he was probably right.

Oh, no.

The Bats were probably vampires. Shit.


	4. Anger on the Horizon

New York City lay on the spectrum of disaster somewhere between Gotham and Metropolis: there was crime day and night, but the nutters in NYC were of the civilian breed as opposed to the sheer insanity of Gotham. That was the problem, really: Gotham made absolutely no sense. What logic was there? What about Gotham attracted the sort of people who lived there? New York was the city to lose yourself in, to sink into the strangeness of the city's residents and try to avoid getting into the gangs and mobs. Metropolis was a city of light and hope, Superman's symbol beacon of strength to everyone. Gotham – well. Gotham was where madness went to die.

The zeta let out in a tiny flat on a Broadway alley where nobody would react to peculiar noises and flashes of light. In this neighbourhood, the Bats blended into the soot-stained brick like fawns in woodland, hidden in the crevices where only the bravest and most cynical dared look. Not many people outside of Gotham believed in the Bats. Their existence was like that of Bigfoot, the creatures in the corn, presences in graveyards. Who could disprove them? Who, more to the interest of the world away from Gotham, could?

Bruce peeled himself out of his batsuit (again) and pulled on the almost-approaching-casual suit Alfred had laid out for him. It took no effort to appear suitably frazzled, given his hair stood on end in all directions and the suit was gently creased from zeta travel. Looking in the mirror was surreal – how had they got this old? Tony was 38, he himself in his early forties or so (time travel and space shenanigans had been throwing the maths out since Dick was a kid), and here they were. Six or so kids and many superheroes culminating in this, a threat, the unveiling of a public figure as a mask.

The Batsuit tucked behind a few floorboards, stiff from lack of use and years of dust, and he laid Batman with it – he really couldn't let that side of his personality out in front of the press, who would undoubtedly show up. The rusty snick of the latch set him reflecting on whether this place was worth keeping on as a safe-house. Tim had been the last Bat in New York, unless one of them had snuck through when he wasn't watching, back when he'd been collecting some present or other he wasn't talking about. Bruce really hoped there wasn't a girl involved – or any prospective partner. Not his babies. That had been seven or eight months ago now, and before that it had been when Bruce came to scream and rail against the board when they tried to call off the search for Tony. Rhodey had to collect him, take him out to get very drunk in one of the many clubs which existed to lose yourself in. Bad night, that.

New York traffic was nothing like in Gotham. People in Gotham just – didn't drive much. There had to be a reason for that beyond tradition and the constant threat of traffic jams, because people in Metropolis and New York drove. Actually, considering the number of stereotypical yellow taxis etcetera Bruce has had to dodge in the last five minutes, maybe he'll leave the matter alone to avoid the chance of Gotham developing traffic. There was chaos enough as it was.

"Excuse me, but am I near Tony Stark's New York residence?" Bruce had ducked into a tiny takeaway to check if Tony was still here. He thought so, but Tony would be running to Malibu within hours if he hadn't already, and why waste his time?

"Nah Mr Wayne. You best head on down Malibu if he ain't in touch," answered the waitress. Bruce was somewhat surprised she knew his face – but then again, why wouldn't she. He was on the news as much as Tony currently, the pair of them considered the greatest heirs in business (Lex came in at a struggling third, sometimes). The waitress continued, "He said he wanted to be home, yanno?"

Malibu.

Excellent.

Hal kept one uncomfortable eye on the monitor for the Bat's quarters. There were, like, ten kids in there, and one who was ill. How many were girls? He'd worked with girls for years. Did he need to provide pads and stuff? Batman is always crazy prepared, so likelihood was that his help wouldn't be needed, but just in case maybe he should send directions to the medbay and –

Wait. If he sent them there, would they drink the blood in the supplies? That would be... Well, he wouldn't say anything about it because hello he valued his life, but he was pretty sure Diana would be a bit put out about it. Hal gave serious consideration to calling Flash to make a plan of action, but before he could reach for his phone his attention was snatched by a blue blinking light. That light, a single LED, meant trouble.

Waller's light. Batman and Cyborg (Victor) had designed a program to sift through news reports and government files to update the logbook, and when she made the news unexpectedly the light would flash in silent warning. What made Waller so dangerous, was that she'd almost managed to completely outlaw vigilantes before, way back when it was just Clark and Ollie and a few other people trying to keep themselves afloat, gradually working towards acceptance. It was days like this, reflected Hal as he punched the Adult In Charge Summoning Button, that made him want to retreat back into space and anonymity and avoid the bursts of tension caused by the emergence of a new hero. Maybe he should join the Bats.

"What's happening," demanded Nightwing from his left, looming into his space. Hal let out an undignified screech as he lurched out his chair in alarm. When would these people learn to knock, holy crap. It was like living with ghosts – or, you know, blood-sucking crime-fighting super creepy completely silent Bat-themed costumed vigilantes from the worst city in America and possibly the planet who quite possibly had a hive mind and assorted superpowers, including but not limited to telepathy and reading the future.

"This Waller woman really is starting to rub me the wrong way."

"Yeah, don't get me started," said Clark as he and Diana entered the room, two towers of strength and hope and Hal let out a reflexive sigh of relief – they were inhuman, terrifying, but emitted such an aura of safety that even Nightwing lost some of the tension in his back. Padding behind Diana was a plain-clothes Red Hood, in dark jeans and a red t-shirt and a black domino mask. Was this his life now? Were the poor sods on night-time monitor duty going to be left to the mercy of Batman's insane bloodsucking offspring? He shuffled out of Clark's view of the monitors, deliberately thinking about how that made him closer to Diana, not about how he was now within arm's reach of the infamously violent Red Hood of Gotham whose soul oozed the greyish wisps Hal had come to associate with a life of extreme violence and guilt.

Diana set herself lightly into his vacated chair, leaning in close to read the streaming data. As the two thought – and Hal regretted not having brought his glasses, because willing himself a pair never quite got the prescription right – he knew that the two Bats and himself were trying their damned hardest to work out exactly what Waller and the man on screen with her were stirring up in the great industrial cesspit of American politics. Something about the livestream playing in the top monitor disturbed his stomach, some intangible taste of the speech, some oddness to the audio-

"She's afraid," he realised, "Waller is doing this because we frighten her."

"What the hell you on?"

"I know fear, okay, and I'm telling you that we scare her." Scepticism was clear on Red Hood's face, but Nightwing gave no indication of anything other than intense focus, like being faced down by a dragon or a bear or your mother, so he pressed his point. "The ring runs off willpower. When you wear a ring enough, you start being able to distinguish different inclinations. Strength, hope, love, regret, and fear are the easiest for some reason," he shot his eyes to Hood, "Waller looks like fear."

The intensity of four superheroes is awful in its focus, and it feels like being stripped bare to your bones with your heart on display and your soul stretched like shrinking wool over hot steam, but Hal stood firm with his eyes on Diana who could tell his lies without even needing her lasso. I am not wrong, he thought firmly, I am not wrong. Certainty grew in his bones to straighten the set of his shoulders and raise his chin in almost-defiance.

"He is right. Waller fears our strength," spoke Clark, "We should call a meeting. Us three, and some Bats."

Nightwing and Red Hood locked eyes. Hood's hand flicked; Nightwing's nose wrinkled. Whatever conversation they had must have been far more charged than the usual: those who heard the Bats discuss a plan instead of issuing steady orders usually didn't live to tell the tale.

"We have an idea," rumbled Hood.

_Hopefully this story will now get updated fairly regularly, so that I can work towards completing the series. I have the timeline mostly worked out, as having the JL around would affect events such as Civil War and Nick Fury's attitude towards the Avengers Initiative. If Hal stops stealing the show it might even be done by Christmas. _


End file.
